Rhythms of Life
by The Samurai Chef
Summary: Even outside his profession, inner peace is as elusive as ever. GOEMONCentric, drabbles ahoy. A few supernatural occurrences later, because a man who took the liver of a dragon can expect stranger things to come.
1. Prologue

**Rhythms of Life**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Ishikawa Goemon. However, I do own the words with which I have chosen to describe him and his situations.

I have started this over!

These are still just a bunch of drabbles that are connected to each other... or in other words, a compilation of some of my roleplaying posts. XP Some supernatural elements. Some chapters are long, others are short. They might be extremely disjointed. 8D In any case, on with it!

* * *

_...Is it a kind of shadow,  
Reaching into the night,  
Wandering over the hills unseen,  
Or is it a dream?_

_There's a high wind in the trees,  
A cold sound in the air,  
And nobody ever knows when you go,  
And where do you start,  
Oh, into the dark._

_Bright eyes,  
burning like fire.  
Bright eyes,  
how can you close and fail?  
How can the light that burned so brightly Suddenly burn so pale?  
Bright eyes..._

_Bright Eyes_, **Simon and Garfunkel **

* * *

**I**

Fireflies dotted the nightscape, their soft, ethereal light tracing captivating patterns against the translucence of their paper window.

"Sit down, _little one_. You look tired, and it has been a long day for all of us."

A hand beckoned the child forward, with sincerity. He knelt complaisantly on the battered tatami mat. Her seasoned face was seamed with sympathy.

"Have you heard the legend of the thousand cranes, little one?"

"No, Obasama."

A low, hoarse laugh bellowed from her cracked lips, eyes sparkled from behind deep and heavy folds. Despite her amusement, she spoke with utmost gravity. The clinking of sullied chopsticks and of pots washed from dinner fell away.

"Listen well." As she leaned in close, he breathed in the familiar smell of warm mothballs. He listened intently. "It is said that if you fold one thousand paper cranes, that you will please the gods, and they will grant you one wish. It is thought that even the sick can get better."

* * *

The epitome of disillusionment spoke behind shoji rolling shut.

"I will not have you filling his head with such nonsense, mother-in-law. He must learn that nothing is earned without effort, without work."

"Son-in-law, I am only trying to give the poor boy something nice to think about..." Obasan cast an rueful, imploring look upon stone. Her calloused fingers twisted around themselves. "Children his age _should_..."

_...live happy lives.  
_

Where she lost momentum, he took up the threads of conversation.

"Do not forget that I am his _father_, mother-in-law! Life cannot be picked and chosen! _This_ is what he has been given, this is what we have been given, and now he will fight like those before him. Things do not come to those who sit idly and wait." After giving her a brief moment to digest his words, he rose to his feet with finality.

"He _will_ learn, or life will beat him down."

On the other side of the thin wall, Ishikawa Goemon XIII shrank into his futon.


	2. Complexities

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Ishikawa Goemon. However, I own the words with which I describe him and his situations.

* * *

**II **

Though starkly _Zen_ in design - elegant, simple, clean - the restaurant's atmosphere had been undeniably warm. Shaking the dusting of snow off the top of his Kuro hat, he had stepped in, the smell of fish broth from the kitchen rousing his numbed nose. Around him, people indulged in their meals with hearty slurps, drinking until their faces flushed cherry-red.

He had felt a pang of something like _homesickness_ as he stood there, his cheeks prickling and burning with cold.

A young waitress, smiling agreeably as she served tea, briskly looked up from the table she had been attending. She was in a bit of a flurry to greet him, hastily running a hand to smoothen her hair before dipping in a tight bow. There was a healthy sheen to her skin.

"Welcome to _Konnichiwa_! Ah..."

They held each other's gaze for an unusually long time, painfully wary of each other. Curious heads turned.

Only a day before, she had been a stranger thrusting _needles_ into his naked back. The shift from a professional to a personal sphere was awkward at best. Her shy smile closed.

Seeing how his expression couldn't decide between horror or embarrassment at the coincidence, she reassumed her role and made an effort at meek politesse.

"...Good morning, Ishikawa-san..." She gestured to a wooden chair by the window. "Please, have a seat."

His ears burned as he followed her.


	3. Strain

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Ishikawa Goemon. However, I own the words with which I describe him and his situations. Noriko belongs to my friend, Karen Wood.

* * *

**III**

Tokuda Noriko paused in the midst of cleaning to watch her favoured guest with a sort of amused admiration. It was hard not to smile as he took up his chopsticks with the careful hand of a calligrapher, as he did every night, his extended pinky finger spoiling the effect. Goemon was a patient eater - as patient as he was taciturn. It was a slow, sedate evening, and she was growing weary of the attention she earned from a few loose-tongued drunks.

"Would you like some tea, Ishikawa-san?" She tried a bit desperately, wiping down a table. The samurai lifted his eyes from his sashimi. He inclined his head graciously, buttery salmon on his palate.

"Please."

Gladly leaving her present business, she lifted the curtain to the kitchen and plunged into the commotion of clattering pans and heavy aromas. Returning with the steaming kettle, she poured its contents evenly into an flower-patterned cup, unconsciously offering a sweet smile with his drink. In passing the cup from hand to hand, their fingers grazed, an accidental electric thrill.

They both withdrew with eyes as wide as saucers. She snapped to attention as she was called.

"Oi, Noriko-chan," Someone roared thickly, emboldened with sake, "...Are you still single?" The joker's circle of friends broke into raucous laughter at her expense. She flushed deeply, terribly flustered.

Slurring, the man was determined to continue. "I would marry you, if I were not already married to my wife..."

Goemon felt tension radiating from Noriko's body in hard waves: her eyes darkened, her nerves on edge. For the sake of her job, she twisted pleasantries from her lips, trying to appease the offender with a wincing smile. The effort bled her of her energy.

"I'm sorry," she said to Goemon, looking away.


	4. Buddies

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Ishikawa Goemon and Lupin. However, I own the words with which I describe them and their situations.

Told in a Lupin tone. XP And now for something (not so) completely different.

* * *

**IV**

A playful arm slid around the samurai's stony shoulders as baby-talk ensued.

"_C'moooon..._"

"I am _not_ interested," Goemon repeated with an exasperated exhale, shrugging off the hairy hand from uncomfortably close to his neck. His eyelids snapped shut on the sheepish grin.

The Master Thief's face fell a little.

_Brick-Wall_ Ishikawa lived up to his nickname; he shouldn't have been so surprised.

He paused to reconsider his approach in securing the samurai's involvement. Their stubborn personalities locked horns tightly, and it didn't help that the other man was less than charmed by his presence to begin with. Where was Jigen to play the role of mediator? Amid his musings, Goemon's body was already impatiently turning to suggest his imminent departure.

"Goemon-_chan_," The Monkey kept on the heels of his dignified partner as best he could, hands jammed deep into his pockets. Their breath mingled, misting silver. "You DO owe me some favours..."

The samurai shot him a stern look; words retracted for fear of wrath. It was best not to remind him of the painful cost of his loyalty. The word _torture_ hovered between them, unspoken but keenly perceptible. Lupin deflated and gave into an apology.

"Okay, okay, forget I said that. ..._Hey_! Hold on a second...what's the big hurry, anyway?"

The reply was swift and cutting. "My business does not concern _you_, Lupin."

"_Nobody_ likes a sour pickle, Goemon-chan."

There was only the wet crunching of snow under their feet to fill the silence.

"So..." The lecher shrugged, a roguish smile stretching from ear to ear. "Who's this pretty _girl_ you're after?"

"_What_?" Goemon bristled and swung around, fuming. _Blushing_.

"Figured that'd get your attention." Lupin admitted carelessly before his goodnaturedness suddenly fell flat on it's face. An inexplicable shock took hold of him, and with such an intensity that everything came to a grinding halt. Goemon felt a thread of sweat trace his backbone. The frozen stare was deeply unsettling.

"_What_ is it, Lupin?"

A wave of clarity gradually swept over wooden features, reanimating them.

"Oh. My. _God_." he blurted, his teeth polished to blind, just asking to be smashed in."You're _actually_ serious."

The samurai seized up at the incriminating look, muscles binding so tightly that a pin could not break his skin. He stuttered and choked on the upsurge of his own vicious defensiveness, unable to will away the blood searing his cheeks. Veined fists clenched and unclenched, a tremor of instability rattling his frame.

One of those good old fashioned _oh-shit _moments.

As tempting as it was, Lupin held back his foot from nudging the human powder-keg. It was amazing, come to think of it, of how he managed to escape with his fingers intact over the years. He had to give it to Goemon; the man had some crazy endurance. Kept things interesting.

Struggling to swallow the burning lump which was his shame, the samurai forcibly tore himself away in a huff, not deigning to stoop. The devil in red released his breath only after the other turned the corner, quite reassured about the entire situation. Itching for a smoke, Lupin retraced his steps, the cogs in his mind ever-turning.

"She _must_ be good." He told Jigen, later.


	5. Plunge

**Ongoing Disclaimer:** I don't own Ishikawa Goemon, but I do own the words with which I describe his situations.

_Random thought_ - I see no problem in reusing my own writing from dead roleplays and building upon them. This way, they are at least coming to some good use. 8D

* * *

**V **

The heart of a city in permafrost was aglow. It was a time of basking in the languorous warmth of sentimentality, of peace for weary souls, and likewise, of deep reflection. Wandering in the midst of gaudy tinsel and orbs brilliantly glinting like jewels, the beautiful melancholy of winter suffused Goemon's spirit. A plastic bag swung in his hand to his leisurely pace.

In frequenting the bustling streets of Kyoto, he escaped the stifling boredom bound to his business partners. At times, he felt they all knew _too_ much of one another - and this, with restless laxity, brought about the need to take jabs at each other out of lack of anything better to do or to say. The careless tramping on each other's nerves easily escalated, less humorous, more insulting.

He felt smothered, and yearned for _meaningful_ change in his life. And _hell_, if he would be mocked for perusing it. Shutting his eyes, he took a moment to immerse himself in the stillness of dampened sound, crisp air knifing into his lungs. He had only to come to terms with the _change_ himself.

It was too late, anyway, to return to the enveloped basket of persimmons and candies.

He slowly gathered his breath, straightening. The open doors of _Konnichiwa_ restaurant were calling.


	6. To go, or to stay?

**Ongoing Disclaimer:** I don't own Ishikawa Goemon, but I do own the words with which I describe his situations. Chieko is mine, Noriko isn't. You know the deal. ;)

* * *

**VI**

Wind chimes jangled noisily upon his entry; he took care not to track slush over the glazed hardwood floor as he passed over them. His lips were thinly parted, the plastic in his moist fingers warm and rustling and uncomfortable.

"Welcome to _Konnichiwa_," She chirped from across the room, swiftly grasping for the pen tucked behind one ear as she made her approach. The floral-print of her casual kimono was overlapped by a dark apron smelling thickly of curry. He unwittingly sucked in his breath at the tight bounce of her gumdrop breasts. Childishly plump features were set into an admittedly charming smile. Her teeth were somewhat crooked.

"A table for how many?"

"...I have not come to eat." The samurai managed, huskily. His face was a blazing furnace.

For the second time in half a minute, his narrowed gaze washed over quaint, familiar surroundings. He hastened to justify his presence, reclaiming his self-possession. "Excuse me, but is... _Tokuda_-san in today?"

Her brow furrowed in sudden distractedness; she flicked a glance to patrons who made motions of wanting to shoulder past him from behind. Goemon courteously stepped aside, his heart crowding in his chest. The shame of foolishly meddling bit deeply as her eyebrows rose with an air of distrust. For a long time, she perused his passive features, attempting to decipher his expression.

At last, and with a curious cock of her head, Chieko pardoned herself and entrusted her duties to a passing waitress. She appeased Goemon's curiosity only after they stepped out of the establishment; he held the heavy glass door open for her.

"Noriko-san was supposed to be in a while ago..." Embracing herself, she swayed on the spot, her breath pluming. Her shivering impatience was not lost on him; he was simply uncertain of how to interpret the news, sucking in his lower lip unconsciously, pensively.

"Do you know if she is ill?" He pressed, his pupils sharpening in focus.

She shrugged almost irritably and then seemed to regret it. "...Pardon my asking, but are you a friend of Noriko?"

An anxious pause, innards coiling as tightly as a spring. He eventually gave a murmur in ascent. The wind pulled at his sable hair, his keikogi. In spite of goosebumps devouring his skin, he did not seem troubled.

"Ishikawa-san?" She ventured.

Icy stab of something akin to panic drove into his chest; he wondered what impression preceded his name. In spite of his racing mind, he answered only with a dim nod, his fringe bobbing. Chieko gave him an appraising look, not at all unkindly, and then surprised him with her candor.

"She cannot afford to be sick, Ishikawa-san." A wan smile, her eyes dropping to his pale, sandaled feet. While listening, he lacked the self-awareness to retract them. "She is more busy than most of us, having to support Rin."

"Rin?"

"Her sister." She clarified. "Sometimes..." She shoe idly scuffed the icy pavement, her tone muted in thought, "I wonder how Noriko-san scrapes the money to put her little sister through college."

Goemon murmured sympathetically, the ashes of poignant memories stirred in his heart.

"A hard life," he agreed.

His voice was low, deep, earning another simpering smile. They spent a moment in self-conscious silence, their minds slowly turning.

"I think she would appreciate the help..." Chieko said at last, her lucid eyes tracing the shape of his plastic bag, puzzling over its contents. She caught a glimpse of patterned paper. "If you intend to visit her, she lives just down that street- -" Goemon peered over his shoulder-- "See that small apartment?"

She found herself pointing into the distance for clarity, in spite being averse to jabbing her finger out impolitely. "She is renting a room on the first floor, Ishikawa-san." Her arm dropped to her side as he bent lightly to bow.

"...Thank you."

Bobbing meekly in turn, Chieko pivoted gracefully with a sweep of her chestnut hair. But before he could find anything else to inquire, she had already placed a delicate hand over the door, and showed herself in.


End file.
